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Gent. Most sure, and vulgar: every one hears

that, Which can distinguish sound.

Edg. But, by your favour, How near's the other army?

Gent. Near, and on speedy foot; the main descry Stands on the hourly thought.

Edg. I thank you, sir : that's all.
Gent. Though that the queen on special cause is

here,
Her army is mov'd on.
Edg. I thank

you,
sir.

[Exit Gent. Glo. You ever-gentle gods, take thy breath from

me;
Let not my worser spirit tempt me again,
To die before you please!

Edg. Well pray you, father.
Glo. Now, good sir, what are you?
Edg. A most poor man, made tame by fortune's

blows;
Who, by the art of known and feeling sorrows,
Am pregnant to good pity. Give me your band,
I'll lead you to some biding.

Glo. Hearty thanks :
The bounty and the benizon of heaven
To boot, and boot!

Enter Steward.
Stew. A proclaim'd prize! Most happy!
That eyeless head of thine was first fram'd flesh
To raise my fortunes. Thou old unhappy traitor,
Briefly thyself remember :-The sword is out
That must destroy thee.

Glo. Now let thy friendly hand Put strength enough to it.

[Edgar opposes. Stew. Wherefore, bold peasant, Dar'st thou support a publish'd traitor? Hence; VOL. VIII.

R

costard or my

bat

Lest that the infection of his fortune take
Like hold on thee. Let go his arm.

Edg. Ch’ill not let go, zir, without vurther 'casion.
Stew. Let go, slave, or thou diest.

Edg. Good gentleman, go your gait, and let poor volk pass. And ch'ud ha' been zwagger'd out of my life, 'twould not ha' been zo long as 'tis by a vortnight. Nay, come not near the old man; keep out, che vor'ye, or ise try wbether your be the harder : Ch’ill be plain with you.

Stew. Out, dunghill!

Edg. Ch’ill pick your teeth, zir: Come; no matter vor your foins.

[They fight; and Edgar knocks hin down. Stew. Slave, thou hast lain me:-Villain, take

my purse; If ever thou wilt thrive, bury my body; And give the letters, which thou find'st about me, To Edmund earl of Gloster; seek him out Upon the British party :-0, untimely death! [Dies.

Edg. I know thee well: A serviceable villain ;
As duteous to the vices of tby mistress,
As badness would desire.

Glo. What, is he dead?
Edg. Sit you down, father; rest you.

,
Let's see his pockets: these letters, that he speaks of,
May be my friends.-He's dead; I am only sorry
He had no other death’s-man.—Let us see:-
Leave, gentle wax; and manners, blame 'us not:
To know our enemies' minds, we'd rip their hearts;
Their papers, is more lawful.

[Reads.] Let our reciprocal vows be remembered. You have many opportunities to cut him off: if your will want not, time and place will be fruitfully of fered. There is nothing done, if he return the conqueror: Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my

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gaol ; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the place for your labour.

Your wife, (so I would say,) and your affectionate servant,

GONERIL.

O undistinguish'd space of woman's will!
A plot upon her virtuous husband's life;
And the exchange, my brother !--Here, in the sands,
Thee I'll rake up, the post unsanctified
Of murderous lechers : and, in the mature time,
With this ungracious paper strike the sight
Of the death-practis'd duke: For him 'tis well,
That of thy death and business I can tell.

[Exit Edgar, dragging out the body. Glo. The king is mad: How stiff is my

vile

sense, That I stand up, and have ingenious feeling Of my hage sorrows! Better I were distract: So should my thoughts be sever'd from my griefs, And woes, by wrong imaginations, lose The knowledge of themselves.

Re-enter EDGAR. Edg. Give me your

hand : Far off, methinks, I hear the beaten drum. Come, father, I'll bestow you with a friend.

[Exeunt.

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SCENE VII.A tent in the French camp. LEAR

on a bed, asleep; Physician, Gentlemen, and others, attending

Enter CORDELIA, and Kent. Cor. O thou good Kent, how shall I live, and

work,

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To match thy goodness: My life will be too short, And every measure fail me.

Kent. To be acknowledg’d, madam, is o'erpaid. All my reports go with the modest truth; Nor more, nor clipp'd, but so.

Cor. Be better suited : These weeds are memories of those worser hours; I pr’ythee, put them off.

Kent. Pardon me, dear madam; Yet to be known, shortens my made intent: My boon I make it, that you know me not, Till time and I think ineet. Cor. Then be it so, my good lord.--How does the king?

[To the Physician. Phys. Madam, sleeps still.

Cor. O you kind gods,
Cure this great breach in his abused nature !
The untun'd and jarring senses, 0, wind up
Of this child-changed father!

Phys. So please your majesty,
That we may wake the king? he hath slept long.

Cor. Be govern’d by your knowledge, and proceed I'the sway

of

your own will. Is he array’d? Gent. Ay, madam; in the heaviness of his sleep, We put fresh garments on him. Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake

him;
I doubt not of his temperance.

Cor. Very well.
Phys. Please you, draw 'near.-Louder the music

there.
Cor. O my dear father! Restoration, hang
Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss
Repair those violent harms, that my two sisters
Have in thy reverence made!

Kent. Kind and dear princess!

a

.

Cor. Had you not been their father, these white

flakes Had challengʻd pity of them. Was this a face To be expos'd against the warring winds ? To stand against the deep dread-bolted thunder? In the most terrible and nimble stroke Of quick, cross lightning? to watch (poor perdu !) With this thin helm?-Mine enemy's dog, Though he had bit me, should have stood that night Against my

fire: And wast thou fain, poor father, To hovel thee with swine, and rogues forlorn, In short and musty straw? Alack, alack ! 'Tis wonder, that thy life and wits at once Had not concluded all.--He wakes; speak to him.

Phys. Madam, do you ; 'tis fittest.
Cor. How does my royal lord? How fares your

majesty? Lear. You do me wrong, to take me out o'the

grave:
Thou art a soul in bliss; but I am bound
Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears
Do scald like molten lead.

Cor. Sir, do you know me?
Lear. You are a spirit, I know; When did you

die?
Cor. Still, still, far wide!
Phys. He's scarce awake; let him alone awhile.
Lear. Where have I been? Where am I?- Fair

day-light-
I am mightily abus'd.--I should even die with pity,
To see another thus.-I know not what to say.-
I will not swear, these are my hands :-let's see;
I feel this pin prick. 'Would I were assur'd
Of my condition.

Cor. O, look upon me, sir,
And hold your hands in benediction o'er me:
No, sir, you must not kneel.

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